The Cauldron
by DeathSpoon
Summary: As the Eastern Front collapses, a German soldier finds himself in the Frozen Furnace of Korsun. Rated M for language and some intense violence. The next Chapter's almost there, maybe in a week it will be up. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1: Journey to Korsun

The winter Hell…

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not support the views of the Nazi or Communist party. The Eastern Front was the largest battlefield in history, and changed the face of modern conflict. This is made to honor all of the regular soldiers and civilians, whether Germans, Russians, Kazakhs, Ukrainians, Italians, Bulgarians, Latvians, Lithuanians, Estonians, Finns, or any others, who never returned from this horrible meat grinder…

_I passed through the Ukraine for my first time in 1941. The Ukrainians had suffered for several years, being starved by Stalin's NKVD. At first, we brought them food, and were grateful for their hospitality. They thought we were liberators. I did not wish it so, but they were wrong. The only assurance I can get is the fact that I did not have to stay behind the lines and kill, starve, and torture. I did not have to think of them as 'Inferior Slavs'. But still, I felt guilty. It was my fault. I did not stop the killing. Friedrich Himmel is the name of the most horrible war criminal to me. It is mine._

That was in July, 1941. Now it was December 28, 1943. In October, we pushed our way back across the quickly freezing Ukrainian countryside and villages. Each village we fled had another story to tell. Patrially this was because we had passed through the same southern Ukraine, through the same villages. Some were being dug in, designated as fortresses (usually a larger town or small city). The Flak 88's were buried until the huge guns were nearly invisible, and the trenchlines ran deep. Some were not used for combat at all; they were filled with bodies, frozen solid after or before death. I could sense the pure hopelessness of my comrades. Every single town and every single garrison that could escape this fate did so. No one wanted to die in one of Hitler's "fortresses".

It wasn't long until every town we settled in was attacked by Ivan. This was the time of the great retreat. After losing Kursk in the summer our lines nearly collapsed, and we had to flee before the Russian juggernaut. When the Russians attacked, we retreated, since our division was still attempting to regroup at a certain spot. But our comrades were retreating just as fast, if not faster.

Our situation developed three days ago, on Christmas...

My eyes started to close, and my mind started to fade out; finally, after eight days on this damn trip, I could sleep.

A small shellhole begged to differ. The Opel Blitz jerked back and forth, slamming my head into the steel support for the canvas cover.

"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!" Looking for something to destroy, I jerked the old bandage covering my arm off and threw it down onto the deck, where it slid off the back and plopped onto the snow. I watched it pull away as our convoy moved forward, feeling my anger subside. The wound had mostly healed anyway.

I looked back to my squad in the truck. Some had watched, but lack of food and rest meant they didn't really take interest. It was just something to pass the time, and keep the mind going. One man I commanded, near the front of the truck, pulled back the cover and looked.

"Finally, we're at a town." Most of my squad replied by murmuring and looking for themselves.

It wasn't much. Just a little more than a village, jutting away from the barrier of a forrest and looking out into the flat treeless plain. It was probably more known for the dirt road that ran through it more than anything. The center had a few stone buildings, in rows. The rest was a normal haphazard arrangement of wooden shacks, and an old church. As the one halftrack and two trucks came to a stop downtown, I could see some minor battle damage on the buildings, and one looked like it was hit by a tank over and over again, along with some artillery. Some soldiers where trying to make a bombing raid position in the rubble of the skeleton building. A few yards away an anti-aircraft position was being set up.

A voice came from outside, from our platoon's convoy. "Alright, get off. We're lost again."

I was the first out, and I helped some of the more stiff off. As I did, I watched the Lieutenant talk with a relatively friendly Feldgendarmee (Military police, for shooting deserters and securing areas behind the line). The lieutenant was new, and at that time I pretty much ran the platoon along with him until he got some heavy battle experience. Still, he was a good man. Not a Nazi, but not afraid to kill when it was necessary. It's hard to find good officers like that anymore. The good ones always die; the bad ones get you killed.

When everyone was standing out of the trucks, smoking or talking or whatever, I checked with Lieutenant Mueller.

"What's the problem again?"

"I have no idea where our division is. But our regiment is somewhere north, and I know where we are. Ar...Arbuzynka. I have it on the map, see?"

"Yes, at least we are on a 'major' road."

"The Sergeant I talked to said some shattered remains of our regiment-including our battalion-were heading north, to Korsun or somewhere. The rest of the division might be there, too."

"Let's hope...shit EVERYONE GET DOWN! You too Lieutenant!"

Two planes raced towards our town. From their looks they were Il-2's, "Shturmoviks". Ivan liked to call them "flying tanks" because they were so tough. After several encounters with them, our term of "the Black Death" fitted more. Flashes, that meant the cannons were firing. The slugs ripped into the Earth, causing it to bleed white and brown. A Kubelwagen exploded, and the shrapnel tore away the flesh of soldiers nearby.

"Take cover in the buildings and shelter!"

After the planes made their first pass, I grabbed Mueller and started dragging him to the shelter, which was nearest to us. The roof was not done, so there was no ground covering the bunker. But any cover would suffice. On the second pass our anti-aircraft flakvierling opened up, but was soon silenced by the thick fire of the Shturmoviks. The crew hung in peices off of the perforated gun.

...On the third pass they let loose rockets...

I covered my ears in agony. My first wounds on the Eastern Front were the internal injuries caused from the pressure and concussion of a rocket exploding. My ears have never been the same. By mind spun, and I was close to madness.

By the fifth pass the Shturmoviks had run out of ammo, and the pilots made their last one just to scare the shit out of us. Blood stained my ears and a few small drops leaked out of my eye sockets. They mixed with my tears of pain. Lieutenant Mueller was staring wide-eyed in the fetal position, he was screaming just a minute earlier. I had to wake him up and help him get on his feet. For the first few minutes there was only silence. Then one of the garrison called out.

"All Clear! Check the wounded and see who's dead."

The words echoed in the downtown area for a moment, then I saw the other soldiers leave their hiding places. Some were shell-shocked, I could tell by their slow shuffling and reluctance to get out of the open. Mueller was still somewhat recovering, so I called the platoon over to our convoy. Except for a little damage caused by shrapnel, it was unharmed.

"2nd Platoon, get over here! We've gotta move soon!"

"Friedrich, Thomas is dead."

I turned around and stared at the speaker, Private Jon Sonntag. "Meckler? Meckler's dead?"

"Yes, I saw that rocket explode under his feet. There's nothing left but some blood."

He pointed towards the one crater, where the one rocket that hit the central town fell. For a moment I didn't know what to say. I promised him, after my brother died. Then I layed my head on the cold surface of the halftrack. I didn't cry. No, it was too cold, I had fought way too long. I had no tears left.

The garrison commander walked over to our convoy, looking a bit tired, but still carrying himself like a higher-up officer. This usually meant arrogance, but I could see he was relatively lax.

By this time Mueller had recovered.

"No, don't bother saluting Lieutenant. I was inspecting the tank unit by the church. The Ruskies targeted them with the rockets, so you're a bit lucky to still have your vehicles."

I looked into the sky above the Colonel; it was filled with black, oily smoke.

"You can get to Korsun in a few days if you follow this road, maybe even less. Your unit should stay for tonight. Get some rest, bury the dead and we'll take care of the wounded."

"Thank you, sir. We'll be on our way in the morning." The colonel turned and walked away, almost in a dream-state.

_That night, when I saw the crosses from birch trees, the bodies buried on their own, sometimes in pieces, I had never felt so forbidden in my life. By myself, I dug a hole in the snow and placed in it a photo of my brother and Thomas. I made a usual birch cross, and placed his pock-marked and bloody helmet on top. I used my bayonet to inscribe a message on an abandoned piece of wood. After all we had been through, he wouldn't want something fake and complex._

**Thomas Meckler**

**December 25, 1943**

_Just then I remembered, it was Christmas Day. If it was 1941, I would have prayed to God and thanked him for letting me live. But this is a Godless war, and I had been through too much._


	2. Chapter 2: Gerhardt

Part 1,The Frozen Hell...

Chapter 2: Gerhardt

_Korsun_

_Many times I thought about Korsun. Sometimes it was at this point, when it still resembled a city, albeit a small one._

_But most of the time I could only think of the city in February, when it morphed into a firey cauldron. The smoke rose high in the air, and the artillery. It was constant. I can only imagine this now, as I fight for my life here in Danzig. It is too similar, so fucking similar..._

Korsun Airfield

December 31, 1943

1100 Hours

More sleep. I could barely keep track of the time anymore, since Thomas's death. Maybe it was a bit of shock, but I learned not to feel a long time ago. It's not that you don't care for your friends anymore; it just doesn't cross your mind as painfully as it once does. The years of fighting in Russia have sharpened my senses, at the expense of my feelings.

The truck stopped, and I slowly opened my eyes. It was an airfield, probably at our destination since it had the only airfield for miles around. A short, mean-looking and scar-faced man was just outside of the Blitz. At first he was intimidating, but then he smiled. He looked a bit eccentric from then on.

"Alright, your luxury travel has ended, you're at Korsun. Ivan to the East, South, and North. I'm your new platoon sergeant."

A soldier in my squad felt his need to comment. "Sorry Friedrich, you're still stuck with us!" Everyone laughed. The First Sergeant looked at me.

"You're Friedrich, the squad leader?"

"Yes, I am."

"I've heard of you before. I was in the hospital, for some wounds in Africa. That was before I was sent here, ugh. Anyway, I met a man named Thomas. He said that you have done so much on the _Ostfront_ that you should be blinding the Russkies with medals! Where is Thomas, anyway?"

I paused for a moment. I remembered the destroyed helmet, the ground soaked with blood and gore...

"...He died, three days ago."

"Oh, damn." I looked around. Everyone was already out of the truck, and I was standing on a taxi strip. Taxi strip, it was just some frozen dirt.

"Well, we need to move. I'll get your CO, you're gonna miss the convoy."

"Shit, on foot? Oh well, back to the real _Ostfront_, I was getting too cushy in that truck." A few minutes after waking up, aI had noticed how cold it had gotten over the past few days, even for winter. It was just a few days colder than the rest, quite normal. But it reminded me of the winter in 1941-1942. My first in the Eastern Front.

The lieutenant meanwhile had started to listen to the conversation. "You have our orders? Where are we marching to, and where's our unit?"

"Well sir, the Russkies have captured Cherkassy, about 20 miles East. We're forming part of a battlion of stragglers, and being assigned to the 72nd Infantry Division. But the battalion's going to plug the gap on top of a ridge overlooking Cherkassy, and watch for signs of movement; I don't know where the rest of our division is, maybe scattered around. We're in a buldge, sticking out of our lines. Ivan can pinch us out whenever he likes."

"That isn't a comforting thought, First Sergeant. I don't like feeling helpless."

"With all due respect sir, you need to get used to it."

"I might...ALLRIGHT WE'RE MOVING OUT! WE'LL MEET WITH OUR BATTALION AT...uhh, First Sergeant?"

"Gorodishche."

"GORO...DISHCHE! THEN WE'LL HAVE ORDERS FROM OUR NEW UNIT, hopefully."

"Experience has shown me to always expect the worst."

Then I remembered, I didn't even know the man's name. I thought he was too resourceful to die, so I asked anyway.

"What's your name, _Kameraden_?"

"Gerhardt Frische."

"Prussian?"

"Yes...How did you know?"

"I took some time in school to study the history of German. From what I remember now, not really interesting."

"Well, at least you got to do that before the war. I didn't even finish high school, I went into apprenticeship!"

_I turned out to be wrong about Gerhardt. In February, he was killed just three feet away from me. Yet even then he saved my life._


	3. Chapter 3: The Hill

Chapter 3: The Hill

Northeast of Korsun, 4 1/2 miles from Cherkassy

January 5, 1944

0900 Hours

"They'll be blasting this music all day long from Cherkassy and the other hills, seems the Russkies are a bit proud of it. Might be some anthem or something, they've been doing this since the First. Are you okay?"

I was awakened from my trance, staring at the forested ridge separating our pocket from the ever-growing steel ring around Cherkassy. I looked at that ridge and recalled many others, covered with the same birch trees, from previous battles. Then again, I couldn't look at anything in Russia now without remembering something exactly the same from before. The man in front of me from the company we were relieving, for example, resembeled a soldier I saw get blown to bits in the Kuban just a few months ago. But by now everything I remembered, every horrible moment, seemed to mix together. I could only see the death, smell burnt and rotting flesh, hear the screams and gunshots.

"Yes, yes I'm just fine. Maybe they're celebrating."

"Don't know why, it's a long fucking way to Berlin. I need to go. Watch out on that hill, they attack all the time."

The trance took hold of me again, keeping me from answering as the wounded man limped away. The screams, gunshots, smells. They all took over me again, making my brain squirm as the memories flashed by me again. Inside I was screaming in agony and horror, but outside I simply caught up with my unit and walked towards the hill, down the small path through light forest then steppe, then forest again. The hill was easily accessible and gently sloping, not much in terms of defendable terrain. It was only fought for because it was the only hill on the ridge left in German hands. Our own little salient in a salient. Ivan on three sides, if not four. Again it was familiar.

Our captain looked back at me as we crossed into an open area again and smiled, showing his obsessively clean teeth.

"Reminiscing back there, Himmel?"

I tried to smile, but it turned into a nasty sneer, baring my abused and yellow enamel. "If you can call it such a pleasant word as that, sir."

"Bolsheviks on three sides, that means more to put to an early grave!"

The captain's surname was Heydrich, I forgot what his first name was. I didn't really care to know. I heard that he was quite a hero to the other units he fought with in Russia, since 1942. And our new company's comanding officer certainly acted like he knew what he was doing. But that air around him, the way he talked to us, and the way he talked about the Russians, reminded me of all the ofiicers who sent my comrades and I into suicidal charges or defenses. Those were the men more suited for a desk in Berlin or a command behind the lines as a Jew Killer, not a combat command where lives were on their incompetent hands. One suicidal attack, one "no retreat" order, and I would shoot him. At least until he could prove himself and earn my trust. Officers.

"Sir, do you know-" I could hear a slight whistle, slight.

The ground convulsed and burst to my right, throwing mud and snow into the sky. Then on my left, a bit closer. All around the Earth sickened and vomited the outer part of its skin. After being dazed for a moment by a concussion from a close round, I immediately crouched as close to the ground as I could get, and erratically scurried to a gully close by.

Again and again I heard people yell "mortars!" as I rolled into relative safety. I waited out the ground's sickness, only flinching slightly whenever the bombs exploded near. Eventually, I started to doze off. Every time I did this during a bombardment, if I'm safe, and I would laugh to myself each time. I'm fucking SLEEPING, I thought, when I could die any moment! I often believe that my once great sense of humor was the first casualty of the Eastern Front.

When I felt like sleeping again, the barrage started to lift. The mortars stoped firing.

I stood up in the gully and brushed the mud from my winter parka, then noticed the rest of my company, save a few, were still lying in "safe" spots.

"Come on, get up! It was only harrassing fire!"

One man in the company decided to speak up. "THAT was harrassing fire!"

"Yes it was, obviously they can see us from up there. Come on, the captain's up, and he's a war hero! Get of your asses and move before they want to shell us again!"

It was then that I noticed the number of dead on the road. Not all of it was from this bombardment. I could see the blue, rigid corpses along the old road, keeping the dead horses company. Ivan didn't want us.

As we started towrads the hill again, I could hear music.


	4. Chapter 4: Night Attack

Chapter 3: Night Attack, pt.1

The Hill

January 1944

0001 Hours

Again, the Captain was a good soldier, a good leader. I just wanted to shoot him more than Ivan. He reminded me of all the officers I hated.

The object of my loathing glanced up at me in the shallow, dimly lit bunker. His eyes reflected the candle on top of the crude desk in front of him, as he took a break from peering into a book he had in his hands. A novel, perhaps; one that he read many times, but still came back to in order to get one small toehold on peace, and sanity.

"Is there something else, Sergeant?"

"Oh, no sir. I checked all of the listening posts myself, and they're all awake. I was just wondering, what's that you're reading?"

"This? Just a story of the Franco-Prussian war. I've read this so many times, it just reminds me of my grandfather, who served then. And thinking of my grandfather makes me think of Home, and peace. Strange, for it to come from a book about war."

I knew that if I had not served in Russia for nearly three years, I would suddenly feel sympathy, or maybe disgust at the irony. I felt no real emotion, except feeling as though my chest flinched. Not enough to tell what feeling it was, but I still did not like the man sitting in front of me, reading his book to remember home and family.

I gave a quick salute, just above the mark for sloppy. "I'll be heading for my trench now, sir."

The captain nodded and hastily saluted back. I walked out into the freezing trench.

I wasn't really concerned personally for his safety, but I popped my head back into the bunker.

"Sir, you might want to consider pulling back your CP to another bunker. If Ivan attacks tonight, some of our defenses may be overwhelmed."

"Friedrich, rest your thoughts for a moment. I'm in the strongest defenses on the hill, close to the front trench. I have great communication and routes for retreat."

Something told me that the night was not going to end with our battalion holding any part of the ridge. I hoped dearly I was wrong.

I stepped out into the cold trenches, yet again. Now hardened, frozen snow was falling heavily, carried by the breeze. I could feel it hit my face where it was not covered by my toque. I walked forward cautiously, looking around for any signs of movement. A flare shot up into the sky, I could only see some of the light penetrate the carpet of falling snow. Ours. I watched it idly sail back towards the ground; no shots were fired.

Again I moved forward cautiously. For nearly five minutes I could see nothing but the sides of the trench and the snow, falling endlessly. Slowly, steadily, my line of sight grew longer, and the snowfall thinned out. Ahead I could see a trench moving across; along the trench somewhere was my platoon. As I moved forward still the First Sergeant, Gerhardt, walked into my view.

"Sorry," I called out, "I took my time."

"Did you get the Captain to move?"

"No, he's insisting on staying with our platoon. Tell the lieutenant before you leave Gerhardt."

"Last time I baby-sit this fucking platoon for you."

"Just get some rest, old bastard!"

As he made his way to one of the shelters laughing, I took a position out in the trench between two hard points. Just bunkers made from logs, with firing slits. They overlooked the trees leading down the other side of the hill. There was still a bit of fog hanging in the lower parts of the hill, good for hiding movements.

"Goddammit, they're playing the music again!"

As the man on the right, Fritz, was saying this, the music began playing. But something startled us as the oh so familiar lyrics started. The Russians were singing. And they sounded close. It sounded like hundreds of them were singing perfectly in time just in front of us. As the chorus started and the Russkies sang even louder, my ears ached.

"Oh, SHIT! They're too close!'

"Fritz, stop it! We need to keep alert, this might be a distraction."

The others in the platoon were waking up to this and readying their weapons, but they were still half-asleep. It sounded like the singing was coming from the line of trees, just 40 meters from our positions. I clenched my rifle tightly and scanned the trees for movement. My right leg was on the firing step, and I propped my elbow on my knee, while the end of my carbine rested on a short pile of sandbags on the lip of the trench. On both our left and right flares were being shot in a frenzy as our comrades panicked.

"Fritz, don't you have some of our flares? Shoot them, would you?"

"Uhhhh, Goddammit! I-I can't find them!"

"Look harder then!"

Everyone could tell the song was about to end, but we couldn't see the ground in front of us, only the line of trees silhouetted by the flares. An aching, melting sort of pain started in my stomach. I had felt this many times before. Fear? Perhaps, but in this sort of combat fear is just the instinct that can keep you alive, or lead you to a premature grave. The song ended.

"Found it!"

The bright burning globe rocketed into the air. At that instant the Russian in front of me, ready to strike, was blinded. Without the flare in my vision, I saw him before he could even bear to open his eyes again. The last thing he saw was that light, as I aimed upward and shot into his lower jaw. A red volcano erupted from his head as the bullet exited, showering me with the Russkie's blood.

In almost an instant, every single weapon that could be put to use erupted from both sides. The tracers looked like a golden carpet to Hell, and I ducked to avoid the flying Death and take the submachine gun from the dead Russian, a much better gun than ours. I knew that Ivan was too close, and he would soon get into the trenches and wreak total havoc. That is, if he didn't take the hill completely.

I jumped up and sprayed my Balalaika into a small group of Russkies running towards our trench. I could see two go down, the others firing their smgs all at me. I ducked down again into the trench. I couldn't see, but I heard several of my squad mates cry out in pain as a grenade went off nearby. I stood up, not distracted at all by the overwhelming amount of Russians sprinting up our hill. I sprayed one last burst of fire into another small group entering the trench to my left, not caring about who went down. One more grenade into the felled trees, and I backed up into the slit trench.

"We can't hold this position! Fall back!"

The Lieutenant was still gone, trying to get ammo. _Did he hear the noises,_ I thought to myself. I could see other squads and platoons beating a hasty retreat into our second line of trenches. We were going to be the last ones there.

"Come on, everyone fall back quickly! Ivan will cut us down in the slit trench unless we hurry!"

I snatched some more drums of ammunition for by Russian gun, and sped off. I hurled myself over the lip of the trench and rested in an old shallow crater, where I rested my gun again to cover the platoon's retreat. Everyone released a final volley of fire on the Russkies before rushing back into the slit trench. But the Russians were already at the other side of my position, ready to enter the trench. Some of my squad mates looked back and saw that I couldn't hold them off on my own, and fired their weapons even as they rolled over the lip of the trench. My fire and theirs seemed to almost hit them simultaneously. The trench was looking more like a mass grave, to ours and theirs.

We finally bought some time as the Russians fell back. There was no cover between the felled trees and our firing trench, so the Russians could not stay in the open. We took this slight rest to jump back into the trench and run to the second line. Out of the corner of my eye I saw our Lieutenant, dodging bullets and running in the opposite direction towards us. Finally he jumped into the trench and started making his way back with us. But before I could yell at the idiot, there was the familiar feeling of my ears popping and my body being thrown back. The trench bled snow and earth from under the feet of the man in front of me, Dieter. My world went black.

Ugh, finally through. I was obsessively working on the wording for a bit, but it's done. And some actual action now! Don't you feel special?

Please Review. I need to improve at this…


	5. A little update

**To All of My Readers…**

**(However few you may be…)**

**I haven't forgotten this story at all, I've just been busy.**

**It's not a perfect excuse, since I've also been lazy, but this story will continue. Don't give up on it yet!**

**To be honest, I haven't made any new material, either. But after Christmas, this is going to change. But first, in order not to interrupt the actual story later on, I'll give you a little history lesson…**

**In the summer of 1943, the Nazis tried one last time to break the Russian army, at the epic battle of Kursk. This instead led to a failure, and suddenly the German Army was on the defensive, with tens of thousands of troops lost to this defeat.**

**Immediately the Red Army struck hard, capturing Kharkov (the third largest city in the USSR) and continuing to push towards Kiev, the capital of the Ukraine. The Germans retreated to the western bank of the Dnepr River, and hoped to use this defensive line in holding back the Soviets through the winter. But before the snow fell, the Red Army took most of the west bank on this great river. Korsun was one of the last German holds on the west bank in December. Cherkassy is a town to the south of Korsun.**

**This is really all you need to know at this point. I assure you, after I start the story back up you will enjoy this!**


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